Case #13 - re The People vs Aaron Bartsch (Don’t spread your legs when you’re with 20 drunken men) (Photo)
Case #13 - re The People vs Aaron Bartsch (Don’t spread your legs when you’re with 20 drunken men) (Photo)
Around twenty of us guys went on one of our three day, Carson Station EM shift river trips. On one of the days we were loaded up in our boats and heading up the river. We came to a narrow cove that’s pretty popular, because of a rock formation. The rock formation that people like to “cliff dive” off of is near the mouth of the cove. There are two places on the rock that people typically jump from. One is about ten feet above the water, the other is about thirty feet above the water. That's a little less than the platform dive at an Olymic size pool (the platform is the really wide board that doesn't bounce much). So there we were, climbing and jumping off this rock…and drinking. Admittedly we knew about the rule about drinking and boating not mixing, and were violating that, but nobody ever told us cliff diving and drinking don’t mix, so what happened next wasn’t entirely our fault.
I’d gotten a little tired of waiting my turn to climb and jump off the rock and was looking around for something else to jump off of. Deeper in the cove, I saw a high cliff. I think we estimated it’s height to be 90 – 120 feet above the water. That estimate was made looking up from the boats
“Hmmmm,” I thought, “I bet I won’t have to wait in line to jump off that bad boy.”
“Hey,” I asked to nobody in particular, “...has anyone ever jumped off that?”, and nodded toward the cliff.
There was a momentary break in the laughter and goofing off as the guys looked to see what I was talking about. Not seeing anything, but the cliff, some of them were puzzled, some of them were confused and some of them were passed out. Someone asked,
“What are you looking at? The only thing down there is the cliff.”
“That’s what I’m talking about.” I said.
Another moment of silence, as they pondered the question. The unanimous consensus was no. This was followed by a brief discussion regarding the chances of surviving such a jump without injury.
The majority consensus was no chance.
The minority consensus was, possibly, but not probably,
with one, “I dunno, pass me a beer.”, said in a dismissive, who gives a crap, style.
A couple dares, were tossed out and a double dare, followed by a double dog dare with a one dollar, “put your money where your mouth is.” challenge. Dave Lassiter and I took up the challenge, agreeing to split the one dollar fifty-fifty. We all headed down to the cliff, with lots of cheering and beer guzzling. Once we reached the cliff and saw it up close, it somehow looked…..I don’t know……HIGHERRRRRR! (it turned out to be MUCH higher) I was contemplating letting Dave keep the entire dollar for himself, but pride got the better of me. My dad was a diver in the 1956 Olympics, so I had a legacy to uphold.
After discussing strategy, which consisted of us deciding to put on wet suits, for the extra protection that a quarter inch of neoprene provides, we dove off the boat and swam to shore. When we reached the shore, we discovered that the slope we were going to have to climb up was a skree slope. I know, I know, most of you are wondering,
“What the hell is a ‘skree slope’ your Honor?
And the rest of you just skipped over the word. It just happens my wife was a nerd in school. To this day she will tell you, her best friend was the dictionary. How pathetic. Anyway, ‘skree’ is an accumulation of loose stones, or rocky debris, lying on a slope or at the base of a hill, or cliff. Thank you for befriending my wife Mr. Webster. Back to the case at hand.
The skree slope was hard as hell to climb. For every five feet we clambered up, we’d slide back down three feet. It took us about twenty minutes, on all fours, to get to the top, and when we did, we were hot, sweaty and winded. We could hardly wait to jump into the cool waters of the Colorado. Our trek had taken us behind and a little higher than the cliff, so now we had to walk about 300’ to the cliff’s edge. Once we got there, we decided we probably could wait to jump into the cool waters of the Colorado.
We had discovered a strange scientific anomaly (something different, abnormal, peculiar, or not easily classified). From the water’s surface the cliff top was 90-120 feet away, but strangely, from the cliff top, the water’s surface looked like it was over 500 feet away. To top it off, while it was calm at water level, with not a hint of wind, there was a strong, gusty wind where we now stood. We looked longingly back at the way we came, but there was no way we were going back down that slope. There was nowhere to walk to, we were in the middle of the frickin’ desert. Climbing down would probably be more dangerous than climbing up, and it would definitely be more humiliating. The only way for us to get down to the water was to jump. Pride really does come before the fall. It was at this point, that we finally began to wonder how deep the water was. We yelled down to the guys in the boat,
“HOW DEEP IS THE WATER?”
Pugsley jet skied over to our EAI (estimated area of impact) did a couple circles while looking at the water and confidently yelled back,
“PLENTY!”, then quickly jet skied out of rock throwing distance.
We discussed what technique we should use to jump and enter the water. A triple twister, round off in the pike position was briefly discussed, but abandoned, since neither of us had ever done that dive, although I’d seen my dad do it, and thought I could talk Dave through it. We decided that a couple things were imperative.
1- we had to protect our nuts and bolts…especially our nuts.
2- we had to keep our legs together.
3- we had to time our jumps between the wind gusts.
4- we had to enter the water as vertically as possible.
And, since our water depth estimate was made by the same guy that had saved a pair of rubber K-Mart flip flops before saving a drowning pal (see case #1),
5- we needed to arc out as soon as we hit the water.
After several minutes of psyching up we were almost ready. By this time, the cove was filled with boatloads of people wanting to see two guys die, or severely injure themselves. We decided that our thin tee shirts weren't going to do our upper bodies any good, but balled up and wrapped around our sacks, they might make the difference between having more children, or being satisfied with the number of offspring we had.
When we were all, "bundled up", we were finally ready as we were ever going to be. Dave went first, jumping feet first…perfect entry…..several seconds later he popped up, gave the thumbs up sign, and swam to the boat. Everyone was clapping, whistling and hollering in congratulations.
I went next. I stepped to the edge of the cliff. Windy….. wait for the calm, windy….. windy….. calm, bend forward at the knees, arms swing back ready to jump, big breath and… windy, wait for it big boy don’t be too eager… windy… windy… calm , bend forward at the knees, arms swing back ready to jump, big breath and… jump! Falling… ohhhhhh that water’s coming up fast….falling….stay vertical……falling…..arc out when you hit the water….falling…..WHOOOOOOOSH! I went so deep, so fast, that within a few seconds, I was coming up on a submerged treetop and was still moving like an underwater jet ski! By the time I arced out, the light green of the water had turned black and when I started swimming up, I could barely see the light at the surface. After several seconds of desperate grabbing at handfuls of water, I broke the surface and took a big breath of air, to claps and congratulatory yells. What a rush!
When we got back in the boat, the adrenaline was still surging. Aaron Bartsch said, "Well boys! I'm in! You can all hang your heads in shame when telling your grandkids about this day!" With that, Aaron dove in and started stroking for shore. Dave and I were ready for another go too.
Once again, Dave went, then I went. This time, I arced out as soon as I was underwater and didn't have nearly as much trouble getting to the surface. I climbed into one of the boats with the other guys and we waited for Aaron.
A few seconds hesitation and there was Aaron falling like a comet. Looking good! He hit the water and….Oooooooooh, what was the cracking noise just before he disappeared from sight? We waited for Aaron. Everyone fell silent, but was smiling in anticipation. Those were some long seconds as we waited for him to reappear. When he came up there was no thumbs up sign.
“Aaron, you ok?”
“Nooooooooooooooo.”, came the feeble reply.
We pulled him out of the water.
Aaron had not kept his legs together and popped one temporarily out of the hip socket. Ouch.
Not a fluke injury either. On my third jump from the cliff (that’s right, Dave and I were gonna show that cliff, the LASD was nobody to mess with), I hit water at a very slight angle leaning to my left and backward. THAT FRICKIN' HURT! The back of my left calf, left thigh and my left butt cheek, were a solid glossy black, with a thin ring of purple around the black, and a thin ring of red around that. The bruise went from the top of my left heel, to the top of my left hip. It took four days to go from glossy black to ugly purple.
For those who are interested each of our falls were timed by multiple people. The times ranged from 7.5 seconds to 8 seconds.
Verdict – Aaron Bartsch, This Court finds you Guilty of Spreading Your Legs Like A Tijuana Hooker.
Sentence – Deputy Bartsch, this Court orders you to Honor Your Marriage Vows and to Keep Your Legs Tightly Crossed When Away From Home, you are also sentenced to 6 months at Fort Bragg, North Carolina, where you will attend Jump School.
Around twenty of us guys went on one of our three day, Carson Station EM shift river trips. On one of the days we were loaded up in our boats and heading up the river. We came to a narrow cove that’s pretty popular, because of a rock formation. The rock formation that people like to “cliff dive” off of is near the mouth of the cove. There are two places on the rock that people typically jump from. One is about ten feet above the water, the other is about thirty feet above the water. That's a little less than the platform dive at an Olymic size pool (the platform is the really wide board that doesn't bounce much). So there we were, climbing and jumping off this rock…and drinking. Admittedly we knew about the rule about drinking and boating not mixing, and were violating that, but nobody ever told us cliff diving and drinking don’t mix, so what happened next wasn’t entirely our fault.
I’d gotten a little tired of waiting my turn to climb and jump off the rock and was looking around for something else to jump off of. Deeper in the cove, I saw a high cliff. I think we estimated it’s height to be 90 – 120 feet above the water. That estimate was made looking up from the boats
“Hmmmm,” I thought, “I bet I won’t have to wait in line to jump off that bad boy.”
“Hey,” I asked to nobody in particular, “...has anyone ever jumped off that?”, and nodded toward the cliff.
There was a momentary break in the laughter and goofing off as the guys looked to see what I was talking about. Not seeing anything, but the cliff, some of them were puzzled, some of them were confused and some of them were passed out. Someone asked,
“What are you looking at? The only thing down there is the cliff.”
“That’s what I’m talking about.” I said.
Another moment of silence, as they pondered the question. The unanimous consensus was no. This was followed by a brief discussion regarding the chances of surviving such a jump without injury.
The majority consensus was no chance.
The minority consensus was, possibly, but not probably,
with one, “I dunno, pass me a beer.”, said in a dismissive, who gives a crap, style.
A couple dares, were tossed out and a double dare, followed by a double dog dare with a one dollar, “put your money where your mouth is.” challenge. Dave Lassiter and I took up the challenge, agreeing to split the one dollar fifty-fifty. We all headed down to the cliff, with lots of cheering and beer guzzling. Once we reached the cliff and saw it up close, it somehow looked…..I don’t know……HIGHERRRRRR! (it turned out to be MUCH higher) I was contemplating letting Dave keep the entire dollar for himself, but pride got the better of me. My dad was a diver in the 1956 Olympics, so I had a legacy to uphold.
After discussing strategy, which consisted of us deciding to put on wet suits, for the extra protection that a quarter inch of neoprene provides, we dove off the boat and swam to shore. When we reached the shore, we discovered that the slope we were going to have to climb up was a skree slope. I know, I know, most of you are wondering,
“What the hell is a ‘skree slope’ your Honor?
And the rest of you just skipped over the word. It just happens my wife was a nerd in school. To this day she will tell you, her best friend was the dictionary. How pathetic. Anyway, ‘skree’ is an accumulation of loose stones, or rocky debris, lying on a slope or at the base of a hill, or cliff. Thank you for befriending my wife Mr. Webster. Back to the case at hand.
The skree slope was hard as hell to climb. For every five feet we clambered up, we’d slide back down three feet. It took us about twenty minutes, on all fours, to get to the top, and when we did, we were hot, sweaty and winded. We could hardly wait to jump into the cool waters of the Colorado. Our trek had taken us behind and a little higher than the cliff, so now we had to walk about 300’ to the cliff’s edge. Once we got there, we decided we probably could wait to jump into the cool waters of the Colorado.
We had discovered a strange scientific anomaly (something different, abnormal, peculiar, or not easily classified). From the water’s surface the cliff top was 90-120 feet away, but strangely, from the cliff top, the water’s surface looked like it was over 500 feet away. To top it off, while it was calm at water level, with not a hint of wind, there was a strong, gusty wind where we now stood. We looked longingly back at the way we came, but there was no way we were going back down that slope. There was nowhere to walk to, we were in the middle of the frickin’ desert. Climbing down would probably be more dangerous than climbing up, and it would definitely be more humiliating. The only way for us to get down to the water was to jump. Pride really does come before the fall. It was at this point, that we finally began to wonder how deep the water was. We yelled down to the guys in the boat,
“HOW DEEP IS THE WATER?”
Pugsley jet skied over to our EAI (estimated area of impact) did a couple circles while looking at the water and confidently yelled back,
“PLENTY!”, then quickly jet skied out of rock throwing distance.
We discussed what technique we should use to jump and enter the water. A triple twister, round off in the pike position was briefly discussed, but abandoned, since neither of us had ever done that dive, although I’d seen my dad do it, and thought I could talk Dave through it. We decided that a couple things were imperative.
1- we had to protect our nuts and bolts…especially our nuts.
2- we had to keep our legs together.
3- we had to time our jumps between the wind gusts.
4- we had to enter the water as vertically as possible.
And, since our water depth estimate was made by the same guy that had saved a pair of rubber K-Mart flip flops before saving a drowning pal (see case #1),
5- we needed to arc out as soon as we hit the water.
After several minutes of psyching up we were almost ready. By this time, the cove was filled with boatloads of people wanting to see two guys die, or severely injure themselves. We decided that our thin tee shirts weren't going to do our upper bodies any good, but balled up and wrapped around our sacks, they might make the difference between having more children, or being satisfied with the number of offspring we had.
When we were all, "bundled up", we were finally ready as we were ever going to be. Dave went first, jumping feet first…perfect entry…..several seconds later he popped up, gave the thumbs up sign, and swam to the boat. Everyone was clapping, whistling and hollering in congratulations.
I went next. I stepped to the edge of the cliff. Windy….. wait for the calm, windy….. windy….. calm, bend forward at the knees, arms swing back ready to jump, big breath and… windy, wait for it big boy don’t be too eager… windy… windy… calm , bend forward at the knees, arms swing back ready to jump, big breath and… jump! Falling… ohhhhhh that water’s coming up fast….falling….stay vertical……falling…..arc out when you hit the water….falling…..WHOOOOOOOSH! I went so deep, so fast, that within a few seconds, I was coming up on a submerged treetop and was still moving like an underwater jet ski! By the time I arced out, the light green of the water had turned black and when I started swimming up, I could barely see the light at the surface. After several seconds of desperate grabbing at handfuls of water, I broke the surface and took a big breath of air, to claps and congratulatory yells. What a rush!
When we got back in the boat, the adrenaline was still surging. Aaron Bartsch said, "Well boys! I'm in! You can all hang your heads in shame when telling your grandkids about this day!" With that, Aaron dove in and started stroking for shore. Dave and I were ready for another go too.
Once again, Dave went, then I went. This time, I arced out as soon as I was underwater and didn't have nearly as much trouble getting to the surface. I climbed into one of the boats with the other guys and we waited for Aaron.
A few seconds hesitation and there was Aaron falling like a comet. Looking good! He hit the water and….Oooooooooh, what was the cracking noise just before he disappeared from sight? We waited for Aaron. Everyone fell silent, but was smiling in anticipation. Those were some long seconds as we waited for him to reappear. When he came up there was no thumbs up sign.
“Aaron, you ok?”
“Nooooooooooooooo.”, came the feeble reply.
We pulled him out of the water.
Aaron had not kept his legs together and popped one temporarily out of the hip socket. Ouch.
Not a fluke injury either. On my third jump from the cliff (that’s right, Dave and I were gonna show that cliff, the LASD was nobody to mess with), I hit water at a very slight angle leaning to my left and backward. THAT FRICKIN' HURT! The back of my left calf, left thigh and my left butt cheek, were a solid glossy black, with a thin ring of purple around the black, and a thin ring of red around that. The bruise went from the top of my left heel, to the top of my left hip. It took four days to go from glossy black to ugly purple.
For those who are interested each of our falls were timed by multiple people. The times ranged from 7.5 seconds to 8 seconds.
Figure 1- Lassiter & me at the top
Figure 2- Me about halfway to having my testicles shoved into the bottom of my lungs
Verdict – Aaron Bartsch, This Court finds you Guilty of Spreading Your Legs Like A Tijuana Hooker.
Sentence – Deputy Bartsch, this Court orders you to Honor Your Marriage Vows and to Keep Your Legs Tightly Crossed When Away From Home, you are also sentenced to 6 months at Fort Bragg, North Carolina, where you will attend Jump School.
Nothing like a good crowd to make you go off that cliff.
ReplyDeleteMine was in northern Ontario, cold waters of Georgian Bay.
It wasn't so much the crowd as the idea of trying to make it safely back down the way I'd come. I figured jumping wasn't safer, just less dangerous
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